Taken
by sissa610
Summary: Someone takes John's boys. It takes place when Dean is 16 and Sam is 12.
1. Chapter 1

Missing-To discovers the absence or loss of.

How could this have happened? Where were they? His boys were missing; _his babies_.

John left Sam and Dean early that morning in a motel near Blue Earth Minnesota. They checked in only for two days, deciding to spend Christmas with Father Jim. It was a bitterly cold morning, grey skies painting the skies. Snow drifted calmly from the heavens, dusting the earth with a fresh coat of white.

John packed his bag as quietly as he could, moving about the small room stealthily. He had a new hunt near by, a simple salt and burn. Well, it would be simple if the ground wasn't frozen. He looked at the two beds and saw his boys still fast asleep. A small smile grew on his face; he loved when they were sleeping. Innocence personified is sleeping children, even teen and preteen boys.

John made his way to the door a sleep filled voice called out to him.

"Dad?" John immediately knew it was Dean.

"Yea, son?"

"You sure you don't need back up?"

"Yea, kiddo, I'll be fine. You need to stay here and take care of your brother." Sam had been under the weather for a few days and had spiked a low grade fever the night before, making John decide to keep Dean home. Granted he could use the help digging up the dead man, but he didn't want Sam to stay by himself incase his fever spikes.

"Ok, Dad," Dean said, rolling over onto his stomach, burying his head into his pillow. "Be safe."

Dean smiled, gave his boys one last look, and locked the door behind him. He drove the forty five minutes to his destination and began his work.

It was past nine when John pulled up to the small hotel. The lights were on and John couldn't wait just to go inside and grab a shower to warm his frozen bones. He gathered the gear from the bed of his truck and made his way to the door. He slipped the key inside and opened the door.

"Boys?" He called out…but received no answer. John dropped his bags and listened, listened to the silence. There was no bickering, no yelling, no laughing, nothing.

"Boys?" John called out again, swallowing the growing panic. He walked into the section of the room that had the small kitchen and living room area. Sam's school books were still scattered across the floor, right were he had left them. He ran into the back room where the beds were. The beds were unmade and the boys pajamas and other belongings were scattered all over the floor, like hey always were. He ran to the back where the bathroom was, and there was nothing.

"Boys!" John called out again, fear creeping into his voice. Calm _down, calm down_, he thought. _You missed something; they must be out for food. Let's look for a note._ He looked on every table he could find, but there was no hotel stationary notepad with Sam or Dean's hand writing on it. _Ok, ok, think. Look around, what are you missing_?

But all normal processing had quit functioning inside of John. Panic slithered through his veins, spreading like a poison that refused to release its hold. His children were missing, were could they possibly have gone?

He threw open the hotel room door and looked and saw Dean's trusty Impala parked in the same place it had been since he left. The days' snow covered it and seemingly had not been used all day. He closed the door and began pacing the room, trying to consider his options. _Maybe the walked somewhere, maybe Dean thought it was too dangerous to drive! _John remembered a local burger joint Dean had been itching to try. A small sigh released some of the tension as he thought of his sons sitting in a nice warm diner, munching happily on burgers. John decided to drive to the diner, just to be near his boys, and to reprimand Dean for taking his sick brother out in this weather.

John opened the hotel room door to find a small white envelop sitting on the map. John reached for the letter, wondering if it was the bill for their stay. He ripped open the envelop, revealing a single Polaroid picture. John's body immediately stilled, afraid to reach inside and see what the contents of the picture was. This couldn't really be happening, could it? His boys were supposed to be safe at the diner, munching happily on burgers. His trembling fingers reached inside, retrieving the picture. He pulled it out and closed his eyes, afraid of what he would see.

Slowly he peaked open his eyes and his heart stopped. Blood ran from his face, and the panic that evaded his system was now drowning him. On the picture was an unconscious Sam and Dean, hands bound and gags in their mouths. John's breathing was coming in gasps, sweat decorated his brow, and his body was shaking. Someone had his boys, and he had no idea who.

_What am I going to do?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey All!!! Thanks for the great reviews!!! Please let me know they various torture you want to see happen the boys!!! I want to hear your ideas!!!!!**

**---**

_Ok…ok, _John Winchester thought to himself, pacing the small length of his hotel room. _Think, look for clues._ John inspected every windowsill and the doorframe, finding no traces of sulfur. _Demons are out._ He went into the boys' bedroom and inspected their pajamas. No blood, or tears, that's good I guess. They were at least dressed in clothes, making the attack occur after none. John saw no items that stood out of place, or anything out of the ordinary. Who ever did this knew what they were doing; great precision and little to no traces of evidence.

John put a hand to his forehead, and continued his pacing. Who could have done this? John carefully erased his tracks, unless someone had been following their moves for an extended period of time. The thought made him sick.

He reached into his pocket for his cell phone and dialed with shaky finger's father Jim's number. After three rings, his trusty friend answered.

"Hello," the kind hearted made answered.

"Jim?"

"Yes, John, is that you? I was expecting you to arrive soon! Are you hitting a lot of holiday traffic?"

_Holiday traffic? What holiday…Christmas, its Christmas Eve in a few days…How could people still be celebrating Christmas?! His boys were missing, his world had stopped, and everyone else's should stop too!_

"Uh, no…I wish it was holiday traffic."

"John? What's wrong? Where are you?"

"A hotel," he answered numbly.

"John. Where are the boys? Where are your boys John?"

"I…I d-d-don't know," he whispered.

"What happened?" Jim asked, and John could hear him rustling with something on the other end.

"I…there was a hunt…didn't bring the boys…Sam's sick…came back…gone, their gone. What am I gonna do?"

"What motel are you staying at?"

"Deer Creek," John answered numbly.

"I'll be right there. We'll find them, I promise."

John nodded and ended the call. He looked up and saw on the boy's mirror a picture of the three of them. He got up and pulled it from the mirror. It was a few years ago, Dean couldn't have been more than 12 and Sam nearly 8. They were on a hunt with Pastor Jim and the man had snapped a photograph of them sitting on the Impala.

Tears welled in his eyes and he held it in his hands along with the Polaroid and make his way to the kitchen to grab his bottle of Jack. He sat on the couch and drank right from the bottle.

---

Forty five minutes later John heard a knock on the door and he attempted to put one foot in front of the other to get to the door, but it was harder than he thought. He opened the door and the noble Pastor Jim stood in front of him.

"Didn't take long for me to find you at the bottom of a bottle, John boy," Jim said, disappointment written all over his face.

"My boys are missing!" John yelled.

"And drowning yourself in whiskey isn't doing anything to find them! It has only wasted precious time!" Jim yelled back, grabbing the half finished bottle of Jack and dumping it down the drain.

"I know the statistics, Jim. If they aren't found between-"

"John Winchester, bite your tongue! This isn't some normal, random act of violence! Put yourself to bed, you are no use to them now!" Jim bellowed.

John shuffled to the couch and collapsed onto it, falling into a drunken stupor shortly there after. Jim sighed and looked round the hotel, hoping a fresh pair of eyes would spot some new clues, but he found nothing. He sat next to his friend and saw two pictures in his hands. Taking them gently, he looked at them and another sigh escaped his lips.

_God help us find them…_


	3. Chapter 3

**hey everyone. sorry for the wait, sochool's crazy, as usual, so leave me lots of reviews to make me smile!!!!**

Drip, Drip, Drip.

_What the hell was that?_

Drip, Drip, Drip.

Water was leaking from somewhere, dripping near-by, sending water drops to decorate his face, rousing him from his peaceful slumber. Two eyes slowly peaked open, not seeing much at first but after blinking a few times, his vision cleared. It was dark wherever he was and it was frigid. The ground he was laying was hard and cold and he quickly surmised it to be cement. He looked around the small cement room and noticed a set of stairs near his feet that led to a door directly above them They were in a storm cellar; and storm cellars were under basements…_shit. _He attempted to stretch and position his body more comfortably, but his hands were bound behind him and that made it impossible. _What the hell happened?_

**(Flashback)**

"Sam, get up and in the shower. It'll make you feel better," Dean said, drying off his own hair as he made his way out of the bathroom into their bedroom.

The small lump from under the covers moved and slowly, Sam appeared from the mass. The boy trudged his way to the bathroom, and Dean couldn't help but notice how shitty his little brother looked.

"You feeling worse Sam?" His only response was a grunt. "I'll go make you some soup, ok?" Another grunt.

Dean made his way into the kitchen and began to prepare his brother's soup. After ten minutes, everything was done and he heard Sam moving about the bedroom, meaning he was done with his shower. He carefully carried the bowl back into the bathroom.

"Hey Sam, I got something-" but Dean stopped when he saw his brother being held by some man, a white cloth over his nose and mouth. "HEY!" Dean yelled, dropping the soup on the counter but before he could react a cloth was placed over his mouth as well.

_Shit there were two of them!_

Dean knew he only had a few seconds and he tried to break free, but whoever had him, had him good. They placed their own legs intertwined with his so he could not kick free and one arm was pressing the cloth to his face and the other had grabbed his hands when his first reaction was to grab the cloth. Now his own hands were aiding his predicament. He saw Sam stop struggling and watched his captor lift him like a rag doll before Dean slid into unconsciousness as well.

**(End Flashback)**

'Well, whoever did it, knew what they were doing,' Dean thought to himself bitterly. Dean thought about what happened over and over, his mind always going back to the look on Sam's face…_SAM!_

Dean rolled over looking for his brother, but he wasn't to his right side. He rolled over the other direction and found his little brother out cold, bound in the same fashion.

"Sam, Sammy. Can you hear me?" Dean whispered, using his foot to gently push his brother in an attempt to rouse him from his sleep. "Come on Sam, please," Dean whispered. But the boy remained silent, the only sound coming from him was a rattling in his chest when he breathed.

_Shit_, Dean thought and he leaned his head down as close as he could to listen to the wheezing coming from his brother. There was a gurgling coming from his chest and Dean knew there was a lot of liquid in his brother's lungs. The cold floor and atmosphere weren't helping matters either.

_Shit, shit, shit!_ Dean thought, rolling closer to his brother, hoping his body heat would help his brother._Please Dad, find us soon._

John slowly came about by someone shaking his shoulder. He pulled away from the person, content on sleeping five more minutes. It was probably just one of the boys wanting something…the boys…and the night before came back to him, grief and guilt running through his veins like cold water.

John's eyes opened slowly and found Father Jim's face close to him.

"John, there's another envelop," Jim said, and that got John up and moving in a second flat.

"Where? Where did you find it? What's inside?" John asked rapid fire, following Jim into the kitchen; there lying on the table was the white envelop.

"I just went to get food and when I returned, it was on the map outside the door. I asked the hotel manager, and they didn't see any suspicious activity over the past few days. But he would ask the night manager when he came in."

John nodded, the only thing on his mind was that white envelop on the table, starring at him and mocking him. That white envelop now was a sign of his failure; he failed to keep his promise to Mary, he failed to protect his boys. Numbly he walked to the table and retrieved the cursed item. He slowly but methodically ripped open the envelop and pulled out the contents. There were dozens of pictures of him and the boys at different restaurants and hotels.

"John, what is it?"

"It's…me and the boys…over the last three months at different hotels," John whispered, biting his bottom lip to maintain his composure. He had been followed…FOLLOWED and he had not seen it!

"Dammit!" John roared. The pictures showed them eating or checking in, laughing together and some caught arguments the three of them had had over the span of time they were watched. John kept filling through the pictures until he got to the last one in his hand. It was not a picture at all, but the last was a red, single postcard with a V on the underside.

"John, what does that mean?"

"I…I don't know…" John said, looking over the red card.

"John, I think it's time to get others involved. Will you allow me to call Caleb and Bobby Singer?"

"Yes," John said, taking the pictures with him to the boy's bedroom. He laid out all the evidence out on Dean's bed and sat and starred at it. Next to him sat Dean's favorite t-shirt and Sam's sweatshirt of choice. He reached for them and pulled them into his arms. He raised the clothes to his face and breathed in their scent; Dean's cologne he received from John that he wore everyday and the smell of Sam's shampoo. He sat there for moments he could not distinguish before one tear dropped, followed by another. Grief, guilt, and depression gripped him like the plague, and there would be no ending to his suffering until his boys were found.

_What have I done?_


	4. Chapter 4

It was some time after six that a knock at the door brought Pastor Jim back from his day dream. John had barricaded himself in the back bedroom and Jim was left to wait until the cavalry came. Luckily for him, and the boys, it was sooner, rather than later. Jim rushed to the door of the hotel and after seeing who it was through the peep hole, he threw open the door to meet his friends. On the other side, Caleb and Bobby stood, bags full of supplies and ready for action.

"Thanks for getting here so soon," Jim said, grabbing each man into a hug and allowing them to enter the hotel.

"We got here as soon as we could. Just lucky that I was with Bobby for the week," Caleb answered, dropping his bag onto the couch.

What's going on Jim?" Bobby asked gruffly. Jim smiled at his dear friend, he never did mince any words.

"Well, as I told you the boys are missing, and John's a wreck," Jim said, turning towards the bedroom. Bobby nodded and before Jim could stop him he opened the door to the back room and went to John.

The poor man was laying asleep on the bed, wrapped up in the clothes of his boys. Bobby went over to John and shook his foot in the attempt to wake the sleeping man. John instantly shot up out of bed; everyone in the room heard his whisper, "Boys," before he realized who stood in front of him. John nodded to them and began to sink back into the bed but Bobby grabbed him before his head hit the pillow.

"No way," Bobby said, lifting John into a sitting position. "John listen to me," Bobby said, crouching in front of his friend. "I can not begin to understand what you are going through right now. But sleeping and mourning is doing nothing to bring back your boys."

"Bobby, I don't…"

"I know. That's why we're here. We're gonna bring them back, Johnny, but you gotta help us. It's obviously someone who knows you well enough to know your boys are your life. We need you sharp for this," Bobby said, clapping his hand on John's shoulder. John nodded and stood to meet his friends.

"Let's get working."

The next time Dean woke up was to the sound of the door above him opening. He instantly moved closer to Sam, trying to protect him from whatever was coming at them but could not when he felt himself and Sam being lifted up and carried up the stairs.

"Put me down! Who are you?" Dean yelled, but received no reply from his captor. Dean and Sam were placed in chairs in the main cellar room and retied to the chairs. Dean looked over at his brother and realized he was awake, but looked terrible. His skin was white and looked clammy, and his eyes had dark circles under them. Sam coughed a gurgling wet cough and Dean saw his brother's breathing becoming heavier.

"Easy Sammy. In the nose out the mouth, relax," Dean coached his brother, but it earned him a slap in the face by the man who had just entered the room. Dean opened his jaw to massage the skin that was now stinging which brought a chuckle out of his captor.

"Oh Dean, does that hurt?" he laughed.

"Who are you?" Dean asked, earning another hard slap across the face.

"I ask the questions!" The man yelled, all laughing ceased and his face contorted in anger. "I asked you if it hurts?"

"No," Dean said defiantly.

"Really? Him, let's see what Sammy thinks?" Before Dean could plead with the man to not his brother a loud smacking sound filled the room and reverberated in Dean's ears, followed by a small whimper.

"Hmm, it seems to hurt Little Sammy more," the man said, slapping Sam again.

"Please stop! He's sick!" Dean said. He man turned his attention from Sam to Dean, a menacing look on his face.

"You are just like your father-you do everything you can to save your family, but in the end you just hurt them worse. Here's the name of the game, Dean. You fuck up, Sammy gets punished. He fucks up," the man said, looking at Sam, then back to Dean, "Well it doesn't look like he can put up much of a fight. But if he does, you get punished. Or hell, you both will, but you'll watch the other suffer. How's that sound to you?"

Dean didn't want to push his luck, or Sammy's, but he had to know. "Why?"

The man's hand instantly shot out to Dean's neck and began to choke the life out of Dean. He gasped and sputtered, trying to wiggle his way out of his chokehold. His captor got into his face and hissed at him, "Ask your father, you little shit!"

He released Dean and began to walk out of the room when he heard a voice ask, "Are you a demon?"

The man stopped and turned around, smiling at Dean. "I see we have a glutton for punishment! But that would be your first guess, assuming I was a demon or something…_spooky_. But you know, there's one thing you hunter's under-estimate in your line of work. Humans are just as dangerous as the things you kill. Where do you draw the line?" With that, the man left Dean and Sam in the cold cellar alone.

John, Jim, Caleb, and Bobby stood around the kitchen table staring at what they had as evidence. The laid the pictures out in chronological order to the best of John's ability. They also had the new photos from the boy's captor and the newest clue- the red postcard with a V on the underside. The men remained quiet, mulling over the newest information they had, letting it absorb into their thoughts.

"Ok, John my guess is the boy's were taken early afternoon, around 1. This would have given them time to send the envelops, "Caleb said, his brow furred in concentration.

"I agree with Caleb," Bobby answered, "Does the red card mean anything to you John?"

John was frustrated by that question. If he knew wouldn't he be after his boys by now? But he kept his mouth shut. This was nobody's fault but his own. "No, I don't. Jim does this sign remind you of anything demonic or occult?"

The Pastor took a deep breath before letting it out slowly. "I've been doing some research, but I haven't been able to come up with anything."

"Dammit," John hissed, running a calloused hand across his tired face. "We have nothing to go on!"

"Whoever is behind this, knows what the hell their doing. The snow wasn't deep enough to leave clear tire prints, and there were no footprints around any of the windows either. But the snow looked too perfect, like someone covered up their tracks," Bobby said.

A knock at the door startled on the men and they instantly went onto the defense. John made his way to the door and looked out the peep hole, only to see the little old manager of the hotel with a happy smile on his face. With a sigh, John opened the door.

"What can I do for you Larry?"

"Good Afternoon, John! This came to the desk around a half hour ago with a note that said to deliver it to this room," Larry said, extending the envelop to John, who immediately froze.

"What did the person look like that gave you this!"

"I don't know, I went to the back of the office and when I came back, here it was!" Larry said, smile adoring his face, a happy twinkle in his eye.

"Larry, next time I get mail, come here straight away, it's very important that you do so," John said, trying to hold back his emotions from the kind man in front of him.

"Yes sir, Mr. Winchester, I will," he said, and he waddled off to the office.

John closed the door and ripped open the envelop, feeling the eyes of his friends on him. Before he reached inside, he hesitated, afraid to see the contents. But he gained control over his body and pulled out the contents. It was a white card with a definition on it.

_Pneu·mo·nia-__ inflammation of the lungs with congestion.__Also called__**lobar pneumonia.**__an acute disease of the lungs, caused by the bacterium __Streptococcus pneumoniae__ and characterized by fever, a cough with blood-tinged phlegm, and difficult breathing._

_Tick, Tick, Tick…_

"Fuck!" John screamed, squeezing the card in his hands.

"John what is it?" Jim asked, afraid to hear the answer.

"Sammy…he was sick. The bastard wrote the definition of Pneumonia and that time was running out! FUCK!" He screamed.

"John he's doing this to fuck with you man," Caleb rationalized.

"God, Sammy, he always got chest colds when he was younger. Remember that time when he was two, Jim? I had to rush him to the hospital because he couldn't breathe!" John said, panic creeping up on him.

"I remember John, let's make a-"

"His lungs…they were always weak. I have to find him, get him better," John said, panic invading his body.

"John stop! You're panicking is doing nothing for Sam! Calm down and let's think of a plan!" Jim said, placing hands on John's shaking shoulders. "Dean's with him, John, he'll take care of him."John nodded and allowed himself to be swept into a hug by Jim. He felt the others place their hands on his shoulders to give him further comfort.

John decided right then that he would find his boys, no matter what it took.

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